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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595676">He's only going to get better</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Jeff Skinner Too Good For This World Too Pure, M/M, Misunderstandings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:09:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff’s heart is still pounding. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he’s being egocentric.<br/>Now that the possibility’s in his head, though, he can’t help but pay attention.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Eichel/Jeff Skinner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>He's only going to get better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from <a href="https://www.nhl.com/sabres/fans/jeff-skinner">here.</a></p><p>*shimmies away* ;D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not until he feels a warm coffee cup press against his shoulder with a “Good morning” that Jeff realizes what’s going on. He looks up, nods his thanks, and takes the cup in his hands. It smells way too sweet, like there’s barely any coffee in the milk. Exactly how he likes it. Jeff takes a sip, and it tastes even better than he expected. </p><p>“What is this? It’s nice.” Jeff asks as Jack takes the chair next to him. Jack doesn’t look away from his phone, but he smiles. His knee’s already bouncing up and down. He’ll probably get up in a minute. </p><p>“Caramel latte with almond milk.”</p><p>It sits well on Jeff’s chest that Jack remembered he doesn’t drink cow’s milk if he can help it. Then he frowns, his heartbeat picks up and the tips of his ears grow warm. “You’re gonna land me in the dietitian’s office, man.” He says, just for the sake of saying something, because he feels like his heart’s going to give out.</p><p>Jack’s smile turns mocking. “Ah, come on, you’re still a couple pounds from that.”</p><p>“<em>Couple of pounds</em>.” Jeff mumbles under his breath, and takes another sip, a longer one. It tastes like someone put caramel and syrup in a blender and poured it into a cup. It’s perfect. “You don’t have to, though, not all the time.” He adds. Jack pauses his typing and gives him a confused look. “The coffee, I mean.” </p><p>“I don’t buy you coffee all the time, dude.”</p><p>“No, I know, I’m just saying, you don’t have to.”</p><p>Come to think of it, it’s the second time this roadie Jack has brought him something warm to drink while they’re waiting to board the plane. Jeff’s hands are getting clammy. Jack looks at him, then down at the cup, and narrows his eyes. </p><p>“Yeah, obviously. I know I don’t have to.” He says, finally. The words are quick and mangled together the way his accent gets when he’s annoyed, “Dude, the Starbuck’s right outside the gates, it took me like, five minutes. Don’t worry about it.” Jeff opens his mouth to argue that’s not the point, the point is he doesn’t <em>have</em> to, but Jack shoots out his chair before he can get another word out. Jeff blows out a breath and clicks his tongue. He finishes the rest of his drink and watches Jack pace around the room.</p><p>Jeff’s heart is still pounding. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he’s being egocentric.</p><p>Now that the possibility’s in his head, though, he can’t help but pay attention.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They drop the game against Vancouver, a gnarly OT loss that slips out of their hands at the last second, and it’s brutal. The locker room’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. </p><p>Jeff sits in his stall looking at nothing, just processing his own thoughts of the game, what he did and didn’t do, what he could’ve done better. Jack’s always the last one to come in. He stomps through the doors and drops next to Jeff with his back too straight and his shoulders held high. Jack’s killing himself out there, playing some of the best hockey Jeff’s ever seen, but it doesn’t matter, not to him. They’re not where he wants them to be, and Jack conflates the team’s performance with his own to a point where it becomes insufferable.</p><p>The unspoken agreement to deal with Jack in moments like these is leaving him alone and waiting for it to pass. Maybe Jeff can try something different. He doesn’t know where the urge comes from—maybe the newfound awareness of Jack’s feelings—but it compels him to turn to Jack and clear his throat.</p><p>“Eichs.” He starts. Sam sends him an alarmed look from the other side of the room, and Jeff ignores him. “Jackie.”</p><p>“<em>What.</em>” Jack spits out. Jeff hesitates for a second, and his eyes fall to Jack’s arm.</p><p>“Your elbow’s peeling.”  </p><p>Jack tilts his head to glare at him, but he must see something in Jeff’s face that softens his expression. He sighs, and his shoulders sag like someone’s cut the strings of a puppet. “Yeah, I know, it’s my fucking eczema.”</p><p>“Do you have a cream for that?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I just.” Jack drags a hand across his face. He leans down and starts yanking at his skate’s laces. “I forget, sometimes, because it’s a night-time thing and, uh,” His voice falters as Jeff grabs his bicep and trails his fingers down the back of his arm. His reaction ignites something scary in Jeff’s chest, something fierce. A protectiveness, almost. “Uh, I just forget.”</p><p>“Set an alarm. I swear, if I don’t moisturize for one day my skin turns to sandpaper.”</p><p>Jack doesn’t say anything else, and Jeff glances at up him to find him already looking back. His eyes are wide. “Your skin’s fine.” He says, and Jeff forces out a laugh. He can already feel his cheeks turning red.</p><p><em>Shit</em>. “Why, thank you.”</p><p>“Aw.” Sam coos, out of nowhere, and Jack picks up a tape ball from the floor and throws it at him.</p><p>“No one’s fucking talking to you.” He barks. There’s a small smile playing at his lips, though, and the locker room feeds from it like it’s water in the desert. Jeff’s always surprised at how much space Jack occupies in a room. He’s a big body, sure, but it goes beyond that.</p><p>Without giving it much thought, Jeff takes Jack’s left skate out of his hands and puts it over on his lap. He unlaces it slowly, fingers working absently. He can sense Jack’s eyes on him again, but Risto brings up their daily fantasy pool, and Jeff pays attention to that, instead.</p><p>He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t mind having Jack’s eyes on him, though. He knows that much.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jack’s a little crazy. No, crazy’s not nice, maybe—<em>eccentric</em>. Jack’s eccentric. Jeff knew it from the moment his trade was made official and Jack texted him not even five minutes after. It was a normal enough text, but something about the timing felt possessive. Jeff was on <em>Jack’s</em> team now, and he better not forget it.</p><p>The feeling returned in full force when he landed in Buffalo and Jack was parked outside the airport waiting for him.</p><p>Jack didn’t even get out of the car. He had sunglasses on, and a beanie shoved over his ears. The only reason Jeff even recognized him sitting behind the wheel was because he’d gotten a description of his Jeep. When he saw Jeff, he rolled down his window and yelled, “Hey, how’s it going? Put your shit in the back” and Jeff was so caught off-guard by the whole apparatus he couldn’t help but laugh.</p><p>The ride didn’t go any better. Jack drove too fast and turned the wheel at the very last second like he’d forgotten what he was doing. He was a motormouth, that much was obvious, and he gave Jeff a crash course on Buffalo that Jeff both didn’t want and didn’t understand for the most part. Jeff kept a hand around the roof handle for the entire duration of the ride, and he thinks he may have spoken a total of six complete sentences.</p><p>By the time Jack dropped him off at his hotel, Jeff was so exhausted he felt like he’d been run over by a train. He couldn’t stop smiling, though.</p><p>So, if Jack’s a little eccentric, Jeff’s probably something worse.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The problem with paying attention is that Jeff’s the least discreet guy in the world, and he can’t lie to save his life. After Vancouver, he keeps noticing more and more, and it’s getting harder to pretend otherwise.</p><p>He notices how Jack tends to seek him out in a room, so he smiles when their eyes meet, because he wants Jack to know that’s alright, Jeff’s happy to see him, too. Jack doesn’t always smile back, but his eyes will crinkle at the corners, and he’ll look the tiniest bit more relaxed.</p><p>Then, Jeff notices the touching, the hand on the back of his neck when they’re walking out of practice together, the tug on his beanie if he didn’t push it low enough for Jack’s liking, the constant shoves and grabs during conversation with others. These types of touches are not exclusive to Jeff. Jack’s a tactile person. But his hands linger on Jeff in a way they don’t on anybody else. And Jeff notices that, now, so he reciprocates.</p><p>It comes to him very easily. Maybe too easily. If Jack’s got an arm over his shoulders, Jeff sneaks an arm around his middle and leans into him. He starts squeezing Jack’s bicep as a greeting, right over the elbow, and he lets his fingers linger the same way Jack’s do.</p><p>At dinner in Chicago, Jeff gets up to go use the toilets and makes sure to walk past Jack’s chair and ruffle his hair. On his way back, Jack catches him by the wrist and asks, “What was that about?” in a low, curious voice.</p><p>Jeff just laughs and messes up his hair again. He thinks about Jack’s hand on his wrist for the rest of the night, and tells himself that’s fine. He’s doing these things to make Jack happy. They’re friends, good friends. Jeff’s fond of the guy. He doesn’t want to be part of the weight on Jack’s shoulders. It must be awful to want someone who won’t, <em>can’t</em> want you back.</p><p>A couple of weeks fly by, and reciprocating’s become so natural, Jeff doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until after it happens.</p><p>Jack can never sit still for too long, not with how hyperactive he is, but he’ll last longer if Jeff’s sitting next to him.</p><p>The Hutton’s invited some of the boys over for lunch, and now they’re sprawled on the couch, bellies full and taste buds’ content, barely watching whatever poker tournament is on TV. Jeff feels a comfortable type of tired, like he could fall asleep at any moment but not from exhaustion, just because he’s that comfortable. He’s sandwiched between Jack and Zemgus, head lolling over Jack’s arm, their thighs pressed together, and his body’s starting to melt into the cushions.</p><p>“Oh, he’s bluffing for sure.” Kyle comments, and Jeff’s momentarily jolted out of bliss by the sudden spasm of Jack’s shoulders.</p><p>“What, short stack? No way. His hand is terrible.” He says, and his knee starts its usual jackhammering routine. Jeff knocks their knees together, but Jack either ignores it or doesn’t even notice. Jeff snorts, more amused than anything else, and hooks his knee over Jack’s thigh before he can second-guess himself. The motion makes Jack settle. He slouches down the couch and takes a deep, deep breath. Jeff’s washed over by another wave of the same feeling he got in Vancouver. It’s like a rush to the head.</p><p>He tilts his head back to look up at Jack, and Jack’s eyes are still glued to the TV, but he’s fighting down a grin. His eyelashes seem longer from this perspective. He’s got a sharp jaw, but the skin of his neck is smooth, and he always smells nice. Then, Jeff’s eyes migrate to the slow movement of his chest as he breathes, up and down, up and down. He takes in Jack’s narrow hips, the way his jeans dig around the shape of his crotch and stretch over his thighs. Jeff’s own thigh is wide over Jack’s, but Jeff’s more on the compact side. Jack’s just fucking <em>big</em>, everywhere.</p><p>And a thought crosses Jeff’s mind, natural and confident like it’s got no business being: <em>he’d make it good for me.</em></p><p>Suddenly, Jeff’s fully alert, terrified and turned on, and he doesn’t know what to do with any of it. He shoves his burning face between Jack’s bicep and the cushion and wills his heartbeat to slow down with the power of his mind.</p><p>This wasn’t part of the plan.</p><p>“Skins?” He hears Jack say, and Kyle laughs.  </p><p>“Woah, woah, are you guys mackin’ back there?”</p><p>Zemgus chokes out a strangled noise. “What, no.”</p><p>“There better be no fucking mackin’ in my family home.” Carter yells from the kitchen, and despite everything, Jeff can’t help but let out a breathless laugh. There are fingers running through his hair, and Jeff risks a peek out of the cushion to see Jack peering down at him with a weird expression on his face. Zemgus gets up, probably to go bother Hutts, and Kyle turns his attention back to the TV, but Jack’s still looking at him. He mouths “you okay”, and Jeff nods.</p><p>He’s not.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Avoiding Jack after weeks of doing very much the opposite is not the best idea he’s ever had. Jack micromanages every aspect of his life down to the color of his toothbrush, which should be annoying, but isn’t. It’s just another piece of the puzzle, like his hair and his accent. Jeff can’t even imagine a Jack Eichel that doesn’t count the seconds to strip out of his <em>NormaTec </em>pants before games, or throws a fit because someone else is using his favorite stationary bike. Maybe Jeff was so busy noticing these things that he forgot the object of his scrutiny is one of the most observant people he’s ever met.</p><p>In Jeff’s defense, he never claimed to be smart. His sister always says a paper umbrella makes more sense than him, and yes, that’s a little mean, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Jeff’s not bright, not when it comes to relationships, or life in general. He tries his best. Sometimes it works out in his favor, sometimes it doesn’t. Ice skating’s always been an exception to the rule. He knows where he stands on ice. It’s when he steps off it that things take a turn for the worse.</p><p>So, he avoids Jack, and Jack’s aware of it, and a different type of tension builds between them. Their conversations turn stilted and awkward. Jeff starts crossing his arms over his chest whenever Jack’s around, first without thinking, and then on purpose. Jack’s still handsy, but less so, and definitely not with Jeff, not after he notices the way Jeff goes still and tense at the lightest of his touches.</p><p>He realizes he’s overdoing it when Jack stops texting him links of songs he likes, something he’s been doing since Jeff made the mistake of complimenting his car playlist that one time. Jeff listened to all the songs Jack sent him, most of them only once because they weren’t for his tastes at all.</p><p>It’s hard. He didn’t think it’d be so hard. It’s hard not to smile at Jack. It’s hard not to touch him. Jeff has to physically force himself not to do it.</p><p>One morning, before practice, he sees Jack standing outside of the lockers looking at nothing, lost in thought, hands on his hips and a frown on his face, and Jeff feels such a violent, overwhelming urge to go up to him and touch his arm that he has to walk somewhere else.</p><p>And that’s why Jeff’s doing it. Because it’s fine if Jack has a little crush on him or whatever, but Jeff wanting him back is a whole different ballpark. It can’t happen. Jeff’s not a kid anymore, and he needs Buffalo to work.</p><p>All things considered, Jeff should’ve expected the knock on his door. Jack’s made a career out of pushing through other people’s bullshit, Jeff’s wouldn’t be any different.</p><p>Still, it’s a surprise when he opens the door and Jack barges in without as much as a hello. His face is hard and he’s charging towards Jeff at full height, shoulders tense and arms flexed at his sides. Jeff stumbles backwards, hands held up in front of him and panic clawing up his chest. “Wait, hold on,” He starts, and the words die in his throat when Jack grabs him by the shoulders and keeps him still. His eyes are a little wild at the edges, and he looks worn-out, tired.</p><p>“I’m fucking trying.” He spits out. </p><p>“What—”</p><p>“You figured it out, right? And it’s weird, I get it, but I’m fucking trying to get over you,” he shakes Jeff, hard, and Jeff has to hold onto Jack’s hoodie just to keep his balance. “And you’re not making it any easier for me.”</p><p>“Eichs.”</p><p>“You kept throwing me bones, like, all the time, and at first I thought, nah, I’m making shit up, he’s not interested, he’s just a nice guy. But no one’s that fucking nice. So, what the <em>fuck</em>, Jeff?” He shakes Jeff again. “What the fuck were you doing? Do you like messing with me or something? You like seeing me like this? Chasing after you like a fucking dog?”   </p><p>“No.” Jeff tries. Jack doesn’t even let him breathe.</p><p>“Oh, but I think you do. I think you get off on it, making the big, bad Eichel into your fucking bitch—”</p><p>“Jack<em>, shut up</em>.” Jeff snaps, and Jack does. It’s probably the first time Jeff’s ever yelled at him. After a second of hesitation, Jeff reaches out and takes Jack’s face in his hands. Jack’s expression clears into something that’s almost too vulnerable to look at. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Jeff repeats. Jack still has the same dumbstruck look on his face, like he didn’t plan for an apology. Jeff shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does. “I didn’t mean to mess with you.” He lets out a self-depreciating laugh. His thumbs follow the lines of Jack’s jaw, and Jack’s eyes mellow the way they always seem to do around Jeff. Jeff realizes with a jolt that he missed this Jack, because this Jack is his. “I was actually trying to do the opposite of that, but I—I fucked up.”</p><p>“You know what I want. What do you want?” Jack asks, voice small, and Jeff can’t help but slide his hands to the back of Jack’s neck and pull him down into a hug. After a short, agonizing moment, Jack hugs back. He wraps his arms around Jeff’s waist and squeezes tight.</p><p>It’s so easy to let Jack take over. No one else hugs Jeff like this. No one else puts their face in the space where Jeff’s neck meets his shoulder and breathes in deeply. “You drive me fucking crazy.” Jack groans against Jeff’s skin. Jeff swallows, the click of his throat too loud in the hallway, and his stomach flutters when Jack drags his mouth up the curve of his neck.</p><p>“Jackie.” Jack leans back to look him in the eye, until their faces are inches apart and Jeff feels the short, hiccupped exhales coming out of his nose. Jack likes him.</p><p>Jeff goes on his toes and finally, <em>finally</em> presses their mouths together. Jack’s mouth is soft like Jeff knew it’d be. They break apart for a moment, just looking at each other. <em>Don’t stop</em>, Jeff thinks, before he kisses Jack again, and this time, Jack doesn’t.</p><p> </p>
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